


The Parquet Man

by profdanglais, RecoveringTheSatellites



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Captain Floor - Freeform, Crack, Don't copy to another site, Double Drabble, Drabble, F/M, Neighbors, Roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-02
Updated: 2019-08-02
Packaged: 2020-07-28 22:44:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20071846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/profdanglais/pseuds/profdanglais, https://archiveofourown.org/users/RecoveringTheSatellites/pseuds/RecoveringTheSatellites
Summary: Killian Jones knows floors. Intimately. He knows the parquet floor in his apartment. But he doesn't know how much it loves him.A bit of crack silliness charting the romance of Killian and Floor, told from each of their points of view.





	The Parquet Man

**Author's Note:**

> What happens when @thisonesatellite and @profdanglaisstuff decide to write Captain Floor crack? 
> 
> THIS. THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS. 
> 
> IT IS VERY SILLY. 
> 
> Please enjoy.

**Part One, By RecoveringTheSatellites (@thisonesatellite)**

I am a gorgeous hardwood floor. People say that all the time.  
It’s the first thing I hear when people enter the apartment in which I make up the walking surface. Seriously. Everyone who comes in says, “Oh, what a gorgeous hardwood floor!”  
I’ve tried not to let it go to my head, especially since I technically do not have a head, but what’s a floor to do? When all you can do is lie there and be gorgeous.  
I mean, I’m not bad. I’m just laid that way.  
In intricate parquet inlays, thank you very much. I was a lot of work.

So anyway.  
The last family who occupied the apartment had two small children and a dog, and now some of my blocks are loose. It’s really no state for a decent floor to be in. I’m very happy they finally moved out.  
If the agent weren’t showing the apartment all day every day.  
And I really don’t mind hearing “Oh, what a gorgeous hardwood floor!” every hour on the hour, but seriously people, can you take your shoes off? It’s snowing outside! You are tracking slush across my beautiful finish, and I---

Oh. My. God.  
Wait a minute.  
Wait a goddamn minute.  
Who is this gorgeous specimen of a human male?  
AND WHY IS HE NOT COMMENTING ON MY BEAUTY?

I’m calm, I’m calm. I’m perfectly calm.  
But really, you would lose your varnish, too, if you had seen this dish of a man. Do people still say ‘dish’? I was laid 60 years ago, I don’t know from vernacular.  
Stop laughing.

That man is gorgeous. And not looking at me at all. He is flirting with the real estate agent in the loveliest accent, and now he’s all “Oh, lovely space, lots of light”-- yes, we have windows, it’s not the Eighth Wonder of the Ancient World! -- and admiring the wainscoting. Seriously? I’m right here in all my honey-colored hardwood glory! And now he’s walking around looking at the paneled ceiling and ---OOOF.

WOW. Hello there.  
He slipped in one of the puddles people have been tracking in here all day and has fallen face-first on top of me, and I think that counts as a genuine kiss. _His lips touched my blocks._

I will never be the same.

Oh god - his eyes are so blue. He’s just so beautiful. And now he’s looking at me. I can hear the agent sputtering apologies in the background-- could you please shut it and give us a moment?  
“That’s a very nice floor.” Finally, he notices me. I just love his voice. Could you please stay--- oh, he’s getting up. Oh, the feeling of loss. I really hope he--- yes, that’s him saying he’ll take the apartment.

I’m in heaven.

-/-

  
His name is Killian and he’s been walking all over me for several months now. He takes his shoes off like a gentleman, although he did not put enough padding under the couch when he moved in, and I now have three scratches in the upper left hand corner. But that’s OK. They’re practically love bites.  
He wears nice soft socks, and sometimes he slides across me on his way to the couch, and let me tell you, that does things to a floor. Lovely things.  
I love him so much.  
Especially when he gets into the rum. Twice now he’s gotten drunk and slipped off the sofa and slept the night on top of me. I rearranged my blocks both times so he wouldn’t get edge imprints on his gorgeous face. I do have some mobility after all.

But recently a _woman_ has been stopping by. Ugh.  
The first time seemed innocent enough - it seems she needed a screwdriver. Apparently she lives across the hall and had a loose cabinet. Or something. He went to help her - didn’t I tell you he was a gentleman? - and I thought that was the end of it.

But now she’s been coming over. And I don’t like the way he looks at her. I mean - he looks at her the way he looked at the stupid wainscoting. Anyone can be a panel! It’s a wall covering, people! It takes skill and intricacy and craftsmanship to be a parquet floor!

So anyway, this woman. _Emma_. The way he says her name makes my glossy finish go dull in places. It’s revolting. And he’s taken a break from the rum. He hasn’t slept on me in weeks. As a matter of fact, he hasn’t slept in his apartment in weeks. He must be spending his nights at her place, and from what I hear, she has carpet. CARPET! It’s a travesty. And a tragedy. He’s just leaving me here to dwell on my thoughts, all alone. While he goes somewhere with _carpet_. I’ve got two different kinds of wood! I guess men are not that familiar with wood.  
I miss him.

So next time she comes by, I take action. What’s a floor to do? I shift my inlay and make her stumble into the wall. With a lovely, loud thump. Immensely satisfying. And Peter lets me know that the impact was sizeable. (Peter’s the side wall. We have a good rapport. He gives me all the gossip. He borders the window, so I know everything that goes on outside.)  
And Killian gushes all over her. Asks if she’s all right, and can he get her anything, and will she please sit down, _when I’m the one with the dislocated block!_  
I SEE, IT’S ALL ABOUT THE BLONDE NOW!

I am fuming. That’s not a good look on hardwood, let me tell you.  
But then he comes up and shoves my block back into place and---- oh, honey! That was a little rough.  
I like it.  
OK - that almost makes up for the fact that he’s still fussing over her. I’m just going to have to--- OOOMPH.  
A kiss! He kissed me again!  
Now, that was not my fault. He just stumbled over the coffee table, but really, I’ll take him any way I can get him. His scruff scratched all along my varnish, and oh, baby.  
_OH BABY._

OK, OK, I’m good now.

Wait.  
I just caught a snippet of their conversation and they are talking about moving in together. INTO HER PLACE. NOOOOOO!!!!! Apparently, Emma doesn’t feel safe here. I CAN’T IMAGINE WHY. Come over here, strumpet, and I’ll re-introduce you to Peter, the wall. You could be very happy, banging together on a regular basis.  
Do people still say ‘strumpet’? I told you I don’t know from vernacular.  
Oh god, my life is ending.  
He’s going to LEAVE ME. I am floorboardbroken. Be still my beating inlay! How will I survive? I’ll just warp and buckle, you’ll see. Not a day will go by when I won’t think of you……

-/-

It’s been two long, long months since Killian left. I miss him so much. I miss his socks, and the way he just slid over me.  
No one will ever be able to take his place--- WHOA.

The real estate agent just brought in the next prospective tenant, and hellooooooooooo gorgeous. WOW. Wait, wait - what’s your name, I didn’t quite catch… ah. Ruby.

Well, _honey._  
You have curves in ALL the right places. And your stilettos - you know, I’m usually a stickler for people taking their shoes off, but your heels are doing amazing things to my pieces. Ooooh - they’re like pressure massages.

OK. I like you. Please take this apartment. We are going to have an epic time, I can already tell.  
You’ll just have to wax me on occasion.

_________________________________________

  
**Part Two, by profdanglais (@profdanglaisstuff)**

Killian Jones considers himself pretty damn knowledgeable about floors.

Not in a professional capacity, of course —he’s a librarian, not a builder— but as someone who routinely finds himself face down on a variety of flooring surfaces he’s quite certain he counts as an amateur of Olympic standing.

He falls down a lot, okay?

His mind has always worked much faster than his body, specifically his feet, and the results… well, they haven’t always been pretty. There was that time in the woods for example, with the patch of poison ivy, and— yeah, he’s never gone hiking since.

So when he chooses flats he tends to go for ones with wall-to-wall carpeting. Or at least some area rugs. Which is a shame because he’s also a man who appreciates an older house with some good wainscoting and the carpeted places tend to be newer. They’ve got no style. And whatever Killian Jones does —even falling on his face— he does it with style.

He likes _this_ flat immediately— it’s got great natural light and the wainscoting is _fabulous_— but he’s concerned about the parquet floor. It’s beautiful of course, but it looks like it might leave marks on his face and he’s pretty sure he spotted a few loose boards. That’s just asking for trouble. Regretfully, he decides not to take the flat but as he turns to ask the agent what else is available he slips in a puddle of slush and falls…

Onto the gentlest floor he’s ever encountered. He’d swear it caught him, cushioned him, and when his lips press against the varnished wood he’s not sure if the floor kisses him back or if he’s just losing his mind. It might not matter.

“This is a nice floor,” he says, staring at it.

“Yep,” the agent agrees. “It’s original.”

Killian stands, feeling a small pang of loss when the floor is merely under his feet again.

“I’ll take it,” he says.

-/-

The first few months in the new flat are rough. He’s drinking a lot, still trying to get over Milah. He moved to a new continent to forget her but she’s still in his dreams unless he drinks her out of them, and when he does the floor is there for him.

Literally. He wakes up sprawled out on it more times than he cares to count. But never, he notices, with parquet marks on his face.

He’s glad of that. His face is a damn good one, if he says so himself. And he does. Often.

The floor takes care of him and in return he tries to take care of it. He takes his shoes off at the door —he is a gentleman, after all— and sometimes he slides across it to get to the sofa, _Risky Business_-style. This is the first floor he’s been able to do that on without falling on his arse. He appreciates that.

He buys new socks to wear on it. Soft ones. Cashmere. It’s the least he can do. He may be a leetle bit in love with this floor.

But everything changes when he meets _her._ Emma. The goddess from across the hall. He’s been trying for weeks to work up the nerve to talk to her and then she just knocks on his door like it’s no thing, asking for a screwdriver.

He barely manages to stop himself from making a seriously offensive remark, something about if she needs a good screwing he’s happy to help.

Sometimes his mouth is as awkward as his feet.

Instead he fetches the screwdriver, watches in awe as she fixes her cabinet with a few deft twists of her wrist, and for the first time since Milah died thinks he might be able to move on.

Thank fuck he didn’t say the thing about the screwing.

Emma keeps stopping by; there are a remarkable number of things she’s ‘lost’ or ‘forgotten to buy’ and needs to borrow, and Killian’s been out of the game for a long time but he’s still able to recognise a thinly-veiled excuse when he hears one, and so after the third time she shows up asking for a cup of sugar he takes the plunge and kisses her.

And falls hopelessly in love.

He knows he’s got a stupidly besotted expression on his face when he looks at her and longing in his voice when he says her name but he doesn’t care. He’s completely gone for her and by some monumental stroke of luck she seems to feel the same.

Killian has never been happier. He stops drinking and spending nights passed out on the floor, spending them much more enjoyably in bed with Emma instead, and everything is just about perfect.

That is, until the day Emma trips over one of those damned loose boards in his floor and falls face first into the wall with a resounding thud, and though she tries to brush off his concern he makes her sit down and gets her a drink and when he pushes the loose board back into place he does so _hard_. That’ll show the bloody floor not to mess with his woman.

He stalks back to the sofa, determined to teach the floor a lesson, and so of course he trips over the coffee table and face-plants on it. Again.

And the floor is just as soft and gentle as it ever was. _Damn_. He just can’t stay mad at her.

It. He can’t stay mad at _it._

He rubs his chin against the grain of the wood to say sorry and gives the boards a little pat as he stands up.

He goes to sit on the sofa next to Emma who gives him a Look and tells him they need to talk.

Killian braces for the worst. He’s found that when a woman says that he’s rarely in for a pleasant conversation.

He hopes she hasn’t noticed about him and Floor…

But Emma surprises him. They’ve been spending more and more nights at her place of late, she says —she’s got the same nice wainscoting he does but her floors are carpeted. Soft, thick carpet, of which Killian strongly approves— and every time she comes over to his one or the other of them stumbles over something. She feels _unsafe_, she says, and also it’s getting annoying. So why doesn’t he just move in and they can live at her place together?

Killian can’t think of a single reason to object. In fact, he kisses her so hard to say ‘yes’ that she has to push him away before he makes her headache worse. By way of apology, he insists on carrying her home, over the threshold of her flat which is now _theirs_. He carries her all the way to the bed where he makes love to her until she forgets all about her headache. And he forgets all about his floor.

He moves in officially the next day. He doesn’t have many things, so it only takes a few hours. He doesn’t think about the floor, even once.

-/-

Living with Emma is a dream come true. Their lives mesh perfectly and they are deeply in love, _incandescently_ happy. Their floor is softly carpeted but he falls down less, with her there to catch him. She doesn’t fall at all.

A few months after the move he gets a glimpse of his old floor when Ruby leaves the door open on her way out, running back to grab the purse she forgot, her sky-high stilettos clicking smartly across the parquet. The loose boards seem to have been fixed, he notices, and the surface is waxed to a high gloss.

“You settled in, then?” he asks Ruby. “Everything going all right?”

“Yeah,” Ruby replies. “Though I seem to be falling down a lot. It’s a bit weird. But the floor is really nice so I kinda don’t mind. You know what I mean?”

Killian smiles. “I know exactly what you mean,” he says.


End file.
